Chapter 5: The Second Letter
I did not sit down.
"What second letter?"
Eleanor moved back to her chair.
She sat carefully, the way people sit when they are deciding how much of the truth to release and in what order.
"When Evelyn left Chicago," she said, "I was not certain she would stay gone.
Women in that situation sometimes reconsider.
They come back.
They make claims."
"She was carrying my children.
She had every right to make claims."
"She had no legal standing.
You were not married.
There was no formal—"
"What was in the second letter?"
Eleanor smoothed the fabric across her knee.
"It was sent to her six weeks after she arrived in Portland.
It outlined the legal exposure she would face if she attempted to contact you or make any claim of paternity.
It referenced her visa status.
It referenced the foundation contract." A pause.
"It was signed by a family attorney."
"Which attorney?"
"Gerald Marsh."
I knew the name.
Gerald Marsh had handled Vance family legal matters for twenty years.
He had drafted my father's will.
He had been at my father's funeral.
He had sent me a card on my fortieth birthday.
"He knew," I said.
"He knew about the boys."
"He knew there was a situation that required management." Eleanor's voice had gone flat and careful.
"He did not ask unnecessary questions."
"And Evelyn received this letter and believed that if she ever contacted me, she could lose her immigration status."
"It was a precaution."
"It was a threat." I picked up the manila envelope from the desk.
"She spent six years raising my sons alone because you sent her a legal threat to keep her silent."
"She could have fought it.
She chose not to."
"She was alone, pregnant, in a new city, with no money and a visa she couldn't afford to lose." My voice was very quiet now.
"She didn't choose anything.
You took every option away from her and called it her choice."
Eleanor looked at the fireplace.
Not at me.
"I want Gerald Marsh's full file," I said.
"I want every letter, every internal memo, every billing record connected to Evelyn's name.
I want it before the end of this week."
"Marcus, if you go to Gerald with this—"
"I'm not going to Gerald.
I'm going to my own attorney." I moved toward the door.
"And I'm going to need you to understand something clearly.
Those boys are five years old.
They have been without their father for five years because of decisions you made without my knowledge or consent.
I don't know yet what the legal consequences of that look like.
But I intend to find out."
Eleanor stood.
"You are going to destroy this family over a woman who—"
"Over my sons." I turned back.
"Say their names, Mother.
Daniel and Thomas.
Say them."
She said nothing.
"That's what I thought." I opened the door.
"Don't call me tonight.
I'll be in touch through my attorney."
I walked out of the house on Lakeview Drive and stood in the cold driveway for a moment, the manila envelope in my hand.
My phone showed two missed calls from my CFO about Boston.
I put it back in my pocket and got in the car.
Evelyn answered on the second ring when I called from the road.
"I have the first letter," I said.
"And there's a second one.
I'll explain everything when I get there.
Are the boys asleep?"
"Thomas just went down." A pause.
"Daniel asked about you."
May you like
My hands tightened on the wheel.
"Tell him I'm coming," I said.
